Married in the Morning
by HattaPanza
Summary: The marriage ceremony from Mr. Rochester's perspective. Rochester copes with blindness on the day he takes his vows. Complete.
1. I, Edward

The morning of Edward's marriage to Jane began much in the manner of the three mornings prior to it. He rose early after a night spent in unbearable eagerness for the coming day; he dressed with as much grace as circumstances would allow, and then descended warily to the parlor; he waited silently and expectantly for her to come and bid him good morning, to magic away the melancholy as she knew so well how to do. Soon he would hear her and all would be well. Not soon enough, they would belong, lawfully and faithfully, to each other. All the world could try and rupture the sacred bond between them never to succeed. That night, while he slept only in intervals, longing for her even with the knowledge that she was only a few rooms away, he felt a wonderful, insufferably familiar ache to once again feel the realness of her presence and the intense calmness of spirit that, after so much time without her, could only be attained through the comfort of her skin touching his or her voice penetrating his ear.

Upon waking, Edward turned his head toward the wall with the three small, latticed windows that, if it were morning, would allow sunlight to cascade in streams across the beautiful rustic floor and antique furnishings. To his relief, the perpetual darkness that was the only thing he saw turned from pitch-blackness to an obscure gray, seductively pierced by a small, luminous white light. Having established that it was morning, he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed where his dressing gown lay within reach on the nightstand, and then put it on slowly; the only way he could. The absence of his hand made dressing more difficult, even, than his lack of sight: managing to appropriate buttons into desired positions and ease various garments on with any sort of refinement was a task that often proved most humbling. Listlessly, nearly effortlessly, he crossed the familiar floor to the dresser that contained a neatly folded pile of clothing, laid out by Mary, for him to privately adorn at his leisure. Checking to see whether they were appropriate wedding clothes, Edward found in his hand fabrics thicker and more expensive than usual. He donned them with all the speed and accuracy he could. Performing this task ignited the melancholy perception of powerlessness, and he imagined how he believed Jane would pity him when she saw him as thus: clumsy, practically helpless, a mere shadow of the athletic, daring man she once knew.

He hated her pity, and he also hated the pity and scorn that, without doubt, he knew to be aimed at him by any idiot, near and far, who had any notion of his circumstances. While disdaining the knowledge that they knew _nothing_ of his love, as pure and innocent as that of a youth lustfully enamored for the very first time, he realized that he loved Jane's pity as well; he cherished it. His heart and ardently biased capacity for human reason recognized that if that pity had not prevailed through the trials recently faced by both of them, he would yet be alone: an abandoned wretch pining for the lover that would never return. After learning of his _wife_ and his rash attempt at committing bigamy, he recognized that Jane could have hated him and resolved, rightfully, never to lay eyes on him again. But she did not. The beautiful thing is that he knew her compassion did not stem from the knowledge of his infirmities. He believed that knot, that omnipotent, guiding knot that ties their hearts and continuously reminds them of their deep compatibility, their need for each other, communicated to her his feelings, his unbearable lamentation. It told her what she already knew: that she loved him so completely she could not long ignore his inevitable self-destruction and could not endure her own feelings. The truth is that she pitied his _despair_, and, when she learned of his miserable state and of his deficiencies, her love did not change at all; she merely took comfort in the fact that he was still alive. Edward was glad of it, and of the full awareness of their loving, and poignant inseparability.

Standing still for a moment, contemplation consumed all function of his brain until he realized himself and continued dressing. Being yet half bare, shirt thrown over his shoulder, he reached and lightly felt with his fingertips the raised, scarred skin on his chest, the sensitive reminders of the deep, bloody gashes that had once been there. He tried to imagine what they looked like: no doubt hideously red and ugly. He wondered if Jane, still a young woman who had never yet seen the body of a man, would think them repulsive. She claimed she did not find his appearance in the least shocking, but perhaps, he thought, this would do it for her.

Pushing these thoughts away, he decidedly finished dressing, and then conjured every once of happiness and tenderness he possessed, for today was the long-awaited and glorious day he would marry Jane. Wending his way downstairs, he routinely counted steps and felt for various landmarks to aid him in his journey to the parlor. No longer did such a public display of disability humiliate him; Edward had long since given up on that sort of pride, finally realizing that if he did not relinquish his stubborn refusal to either accept the help of others or independently find his own way, he would spend the rest of his life in the same loathsome room. Every morning he silently looked forward to delicately clasping her arm or waist as she lovingly led him from one inconsequential destination to another, and he coveted the excuse for constant physical contact and togetherness deeply.

After some minutes of anticipation, he heard a gentle footfall begin to descend the stairs and then enter the room. Immediately Edward rose and faced the body that approached. He held out his hand, expectantly, and felt Jane's small one slide into it and grasp it firmly. "Good morning, Edward," her voice seemed to ring sweetly in the air, and he lingered for a moment listening for its echo, however, he heard none. Responding to her cheerful greeting, he airily brushed her neck with his fingers, finding the location he desired, and guided his lips to gently place a single kiss on the skin below her jaw.

"Good morning, my darling," he murmured. To his immense pleasure, she brought her hand up to cup his cheek, and he felt her reach with her fingertips to softly, sublimely scrape the skin on the back of his neck, knowingly sending a shiver down his spine. She was becoming less reserved in her caresses, more skillful; the intimacy between them was blooming. "How long do you think it will take to prepare breakfast, Jane?" he asked. "I can hardly stand to delay our departure any longer than necessary." She laughed. Edward held her closely and felt the smoothness of her dress. It was simple, but he was sure she looked quite charming, and, to him, none of it mattered; she was lovelier than it was possible for him to say; even her smell seemed to have an alluring effect for him. When she spoke again, he heard the smile in her voice.

"I think we should dispense with breakfast for today, if it's alright with you. I don't believe I could eat anything, in any case."

Edward smiled at her attempted restraint; he could tell she was just as eager as he, "Well, I see no problem in that. Let us prepare ourselves and be off as soon as we can."

They left right away and began walking toward the little parish where their arrival was soon expected. Jane led him through the wood, and they spoke together excitedly and nervously until they reached the steps leading up to the church door. She guided him in, and Edward heard that their footsteps echo as they walked through what he assumed to be the main aisle. They spoke briefly of the ceremony with the parson, and then Jane positioned him at her side as they faced him in the front of the room.

The parson began to speak, and Edward listened to his kind, calm voice pronounce the promising conjugal words that preceded their vows. As he spoke, Edward began to feel a sort of, not religious, but still epiphanic elation and relief, rise in his chest. It became profoundly intense, and the significance of the moment began to overwhelm him. In this moment, he resented his blindness deeply. He wished with every fiber of his being for God to lift this incorruptible veil of repentance, if for only seconds, and allow him to see Jane, the woman who was now about to become his wife. He grudgingly remembered first waking, a year ago, to eternal darkness. He remembered feeling the acute anxiety of being completely helpless and dependent; it was a punishment that was dear and personal and heartbreaking. His eyes had been sewn shut, without consent or warning, with no hope of ever opening them again. The lights were cruelly turned out and put before him was a great void that hid from him everything necessary to perform even the most insignificant of tasks, made everything harder, made everything unattainable, made Jane, in a sense, unattainable. Blindness is humbling in a way that is inconceivable before experienced first hand: the fear and the uncertainty and the frustration of it for Edward became unbearable.

As Edward heard the parson begin to ask him to repeat his vows, this frustration was greater than it had ever been, but he made a decision, right then, that he wanted to savor that moment; he wanted, with all his heart, to just let the love between them, drive the it. However, he also _needed_ to see her expression, to know what she felt, to just feel close to her. Without even thinking, just as he began to speak… "I, Edward, take thee, _Jane_, to be my lawful, wedded wife…" he lifted his hand and quietly groped for her. He heard the parson nearly stop, for what he was trying to do must have seemed strange, but the parson continued, seemingly unfazed, and Edward felt Jane take his hand and place it gently on her face: she understood. He spoke, nearly without stopping, speaking as fervently and as sincerely as he was able, "…to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse…" Her cheek was warm; he could see, in his minds eye, the pink that must be staining her it. He stroked it softly, tenderly, slowly. "…for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…" Edward ran his thumb rhythmically across the bridge of her nose, her lips, his forefinger over her eyelid. "…to love and to cherish, till death do us part…" She began to tremble, silently. He felt a tear stream down her cheek and dampen the skin. "…according to God's holy law…in the presence of God I make this vow."

His voice stopped, hung in the air. Jane put her palm over his hand and began to repeat the same vow as the parson dictated. As she spoke, Edward closed his eyes and he saw her; under his fingertips her lips spoke the words. He felt their movements; he listened to her low, piquant voice. He imagined the scene he was in. He saw the parson, dressed in his traditional, pretensious garb, standing before them; he saw the clerk, observing, unobtrusively, off to the side; he saw himself, his pleasure, his pain, his happiness and contentment, everything in the extreme. Most of all, though, he saw her. He took in, with all that he had, the poetic force of her words; he comprehended them, and he loved her beyond flesh, beyond reason, beyond earthly life.


	2. It Will Atone

For the first time in somewhere close to twenty years, Edward Rochester opened his eyes and realized consciousness with no amount of latent bitterness or dread. Dissipating to dust, pain and anger scattered through the ethers of the dreary, sun-drenched master chamber, and the delicate weight of Jane's head he felt resting on his chest - the tiny, exquisite grasp of her tenuous limbs he felt around him. For the very first time in his life, Edward woke with her in his embrace, her little, fond touch ready and unyielding.

Where was that touch? What was it like, again? He grazed his hand up her arm to her shoulder, stroked the sleeve and felt the warm skin underneath. 'Please, Jane, wake up,' he thought, yearning selfishly for her breathing to unsteady itself and break into the more ragged breaths of bodily cognizance. Instead of waiting, Edward lifted his hand to the curve of her cheek. It was marvelous, he thought, how understanding the significance of angles and bends and curves and shapes could be so important. How else was he to know what that little impish face would tell him if he could read it? If speech, like in sleep, was rendered impossible on her part, how else was he to infer or determine the needs and wishes of his wife? Now, however, she seemed peaceful, her sleep untroubled, her face unbothered and relaxed.

After a day of emotional tumult and seductively persistent thoughts of love and peace and God and unity and being forever joined without malignant consequence alluring them into irrevocable happiness, the night had been spent in languid, anxious unearthing of spiritual closeness. The nervousness had been infectious, but the intoxicating effects of dinner and the tender compassion they each had for the other's perceived insufficiencies soon caused them both to succumb.

'How had she looked?' he wondered. The truth was known to him without the confirmation of touch or sound – she was lovely. She was new and little and plain and sharp and beautiful. But how had he looked? Of that he was less uncertain. When he touched her, a tremble in her voice never came; he didn't hear the sound of footsteps retreating to the other side of the room. Instead a hand had been placed on his chest, over his heart. Why? Had she been afraid, he had asked-'perhaps a little, but the fear serves a purpose, Edward,' she had replied.

"Jane." She stirred, the bedcovers rustled, the weight shifted. The heaviness was no longer on his chest, and his fingertips slid from her skin. She was close though, very close. Her breath could be felt on his cheek; her nose skimmed his in greeting. The urgent longing to see her, that had plagued him all the previous day, returned. 'It is God's will,' he told himself. Edward would wait to see her face once again; he would always hope against all odds, but would never expect the mercy he knew he could never rightfully claim. Whether in this life or the next, he knew he would see her again, but for now he must be content with simply having her for himself. That was enough – it had to be.

Jane kissed him hesitantly, and through the morning silence, he heard her small, shy voice, "Good morning, Edward."


End file.
